Why mud not I succeed as weel,
An' get a man full oot genteel,
As awd John Darby's daughter Nelly?
I think misen as good as she,
She can't mak cheese or spin like me,
That's mair 'an(1) beauty, let me tell ye,
On onny day.
Then hey! for sports and puppy shows,
An' temptin' spice-stalls rang'd i' rows,
An' danglin' dolls by t' necks all hangin';
An' thousand other pratty seets,
An' lasses traul'd(2) alang the streets,
Wi' lads to t' yal-hoose gangin'
To drink this day.
Let's leuk at t' winder, I can see 't,
It seems as tho' 't was growin' leet,
The cloods wi' early rays adornin';
Ye loit'ring minutes faster flee,
Y' are all ower slow be hauf for me,
At(3) wait impatient for the mornin'
O' sike a day.
1. Than 2. Trailed 3. That
A Song 2.
Thomas Browne (1771--1798)
When I was a wee laatle totterin' bairn,
An' had nobbud just gitten short frocks,
When to gang I at first was beginnin' to lairn,
On my brow I gat monny hard knocks.
For sae waik, an' sae silly an' helpless was I
I was always a tumblin' doon then,
While my mother would twattle me(1) gently an' cry,
"Honey Jenny, tak care o' thisen."
When I grew bigger, an' got to be strang,
At I cannily ran all about
By misen, whor I liked, then I always mud gang
Bithout(2) bein' tell'd about ought;
When, however, I com to be sixteen year awd,
An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men,
My mother would call o' me in an' would scaud,
An' cry--" Huzzy, tak care o' thisen.
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